“Mean, horrible, little bitch!” The water-door slammed behind her, leaving Katerina to get into the shabby gondola tied to the post.
* * *
Out on the water, in the darkness, Katerina felt her temper begin to subside. By the way the wind was blowing off the lagoon, there would be a storm soon.
Great. All she needed was to get wet again!
Still, that would be better than when the previous cargo had come in. The one she’d nearly lost. Rain, even a thunderstorm, took a while to wet you to the skin. Jumping or falling into the canal didn’t. She sculled a little faster. This delivery was to the far side of the Grand Canal, too, not that that meant anything. She never delivered anything to Calle Farnese anymore. It was just too risky. There were more prowling agents of the Signori di Notte and those creepy Servants around there than there were Strega nowadays.
She sighed. Never mind the way that it was weighing on her grandfather, this pressure was making her snappy and shrewish. After all the difficulty of getting the last parcel from Ascalon, she’d hoped their fortunes would revive. Alas, it had only just staved off the creditors. So they’d gambled on going into a Colleganza on a cargo of silver on the galley fleet bound for the Black Sea. After all, there was so little risk in a galley cargo that they didn’t even need to insure it.
And then . . . the galley had been one of three lost in a storm. Snapped in half by the waves, if the few survivors could be believed.
The ill-fortune that plagued Casa Montescue seemed endless. Now they were bankrupt—almost, anyway. Reduced to the desperate business of organizing high-risk cargos to and from Beyond-the-sea.
Kat tried to find solace somewhere. At least her grandfather couldn’t blame this disaster on Casa Valdosta. That ancient house was completely destroyed, all of the family members dead except for—according to rumors gathered by Grandpapa’s agents—one or two boys. Who, even if the rumors of their survival were accurate, could hardly pose a threat to Montescue.
Again, she sighed. Not that her grandfather cared about threats. For reasons which had never been very clear to Kat—and she’d been afraid to ask—the old man blamed Casa Valdosta for the misfortunes of the Montescues. He was consumed with a desire for vengeance on anything Valdosta—even boys who could not possibly be held responsible by any rational person. That was what worried Kat the most—her grandfather’s obsession with revenge was not . . . entirely sane. It was dark, and cruel, and evil—for all that Grandpapa was not a cruel and evil man in any other respect.
And it was expensive, too! Spies did not come cheap, and assassins even less so. The old man would still be hiring assassins, if there was anything left to hire them with. Kat didn’t doubt that he would do so again, if her efforts brought in some significant money. What a waste!
* * *
Kat tied the gondola up beside the shabby water-door. Lightning rippled across the eastern sky, showing a waterworn step and an odd, gargoyle-faced doorknocker. The iron eyes seemed almost alive in the sudden sharp light. It gave her something of a shiver, and it took quite some willpower to lift the ring that the gargoyle was devouring and rap out the coded knock. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
The door opened with an oiled silence that belied its decrepit look. A dark, hooded figure loomed behind the candle. She went in. Little was said on these rendezvous. These days, buyers—who used to greet her by name—were trying to pretend they didn’t know her, and that she’d never even met them. These were dangerous times.
The hooded man led her to a desk, at which yet another hooded figure sat. Silently Kat handed over the little oilcloth parcel, putting it on the table. The hooded figure reached eagerly for it, a little silver and steel knife appearing suddenly in the long, shapely feminine fingers. The knife hilt, Kat noticed, was fashioned like a dragon’s head with little chips of clear red stone for eyes. Eyes seemed everywhere tonight. She hoped none of them had followed her here.